On the night of Christmas Eve, Jane walked out of the Goodwill and felt content about donating her toys and old clothes. On the way to her car, she noticed a wave of dark clouds approaching, which meant that a snowstorm was approaching. Dreading the fact that she had to go back home, she decided to take the long way. As she pulled her car into the garage, the smell of Christmas cookies hit her nostrils. And the scent of the poinsettias filled the room. For a second, she remembered the old days when it was just a simple, warm gathering; before what happened to Felicia. 

When she reached the door she heard “Holy Nights” blasting inside. Here we go again. She walked up to the door where her “warm greetings” sign was displayed. Before her hand could reach the handle, Jeff, Billie, and George swung the front door open and dove for the snow. 

“Hi, Auntie Jane!” they exclaimed at the same time.

“Hey, Guys! Don’t you be staying out too long. Okay?”

“Yes, Auntie.”

When she went inside, it was just like she expected. Uncle Phil was sitting on an autumnal-colored, old flower-patterned sofa with a glass of scotch in one hand and a bottle in the other. His velvet tie was loose around his neck and his sleeves were rolled up enough to show the bottom of his anchor tattoo. On his right side, near the fireplace, sat Jane’s grandmother on her rocking chair, making some last-minute adjustments to her traditional ugly Christmas sweaters. 

“So Janie, what grade are you in now?” asked Grannie Sarah.

“I graduated last year Grandma. You were there.”

“Oh, I was?”

“Yes Mom, you were,” Karl said with an annoyed tone in his voice as he leaned on the side of the couch opposite Phil.

“Hey Karl, come help me with the groceries,” Margret, Jane’s mom, yelled from the garage, “I parked the truck a block away. Be careful though, the snow is getting thicker.”

Margret came in with the three kids, all carrying bags full of cookie dough, turkey, and, of course, plums and sweet potatoes. Uncle Phil would make his famous plum pudding every year. Shortly after, as Jane and the boys were baking more Christmas cookies, Uncle Phil took his cigarettes and stepped outside. 

“I really wish he would stop,” Grannie Sarah complained.

“I know Mom, me too,” Margret responded while buttering the pans. 

“Tell me, Mar, what made him start again?”

Margret paused, walked over, then kneeled in front of her mom, and softly reminded her about what had happened to Adam and Felicia the previous year. 

“Okay, I’m bored,” Jeff whispered to his brothers.

“Yeah. Me too,” Billie added, “I say we get out of here.” 

As the three of them snuck out the back door, they bumped into Uncle Phil who had just finished smoking his entire pack of cigarettes. He smiled at them with his yellow, decayed teeth and stepped aside to clear their path. 

“Be careful boys. Stay inside the backyard,” he demanded.

“Uncle Phil, have you seen Uncle Karl?” Jane asked as soon as he entered the living room, “he’s been gone for like twenty minutes.”

“He’s probably still trying to fit into that stupid Santa costume y’all keep making him wear every year.”

“Yeah. But-whatever, Imma go look for him.”

She grabbed her coat and walked out to find Jeff and George sitting on the front porch, shivering.

“What are you doing out here? Didn’t I tell you to stay inside?”

“Well-um-uh, Uncle Phil told us we can but-”

“Where is Billie?” she asked alarmingly. 

“He went to the danger zone,” George answered bluntly after a small pause. 

“Oh, my-agh! Go inside! I’ll go find him.”

“You don’t even know where he went,” Jeff sassed.

Jane gave him the death-stare then looked at George, who pointed towards the darker side of the road with one streetlight. She rolled her eyes, turned on the flashlight on her phone, and began walking towards the light. 

I'm gonna kill him, she thought to herself, the snow is getting thicker, and I should be under the covers. Not out here looking for a grown man and fricken dumb kid. I should've moved to Arizona.

When she found him, his face was pale and his nose, bright pink. Before she could scold him, tears started cascading down his face.

"Great. Why are you crying now?"

"Auntie Jane," he forced the words out, "I thought Santa couldn't die."

"What?" She squinted her eyes.

"I just had t-to bury Santa." He wiped his tears, "Here, let me show you."

As they approached her mom's old truck, Jane's heart started thumping faster and faster. Then, she found herself staring at Uncle Karl in his Santa suit with half his body buried in snow.

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" She fell back. "Uncle Karl! Uncle Karl, answer me!" she kept yelling as she shook his motionless body. 

"What do you mean, 'Uncle Karl?' That's Santa, not Dad." 

Jane ignored him and briskly dialed 911, but her phone was out of service. Damn it! Damn it! Why is this happening right now? She grabbed Billie and ran for the house. When the door was shut behind them, she ordered the boys to stay next to the fireplace and began locking the doors and windows.

"Jane, what's going on?" Margret inquired in confusion.

"Uncle Karl is dead, outside, and I can't reach the police!"

"What?" Margret's eyes widened, and she started to panic.

"Where is Granny?"

"She's," she cleared her throat, "she's sleeping upstairs."

Suddenly, someone started banging on the front door. Before they could move, George ran and pulled the door wide open. In alarm, Jane reached for a knife. When she turned around, she breathed a sigh of relief when she discovered that it was Phil. 

"Wow, there. What's going on?"

As Jane briefed him, Margret went to check on her mom. It was silent for a second then a scream came from upstairs. Grandma was dead.

"There is no sign of a struggle," Phil reported after examining the area.

Jane and Phil put the kids to sleep on the couch and spent the rest of the night trying to call the cops and comfort Margret, but both were of no use.

"Hey, Uncle Phil." Jane said. 

"Yeah."

"I think it would be a good idea if you take Mom for a short walk. Don't worry. I have my gun, so the kids and I will be fine."

"You think that'll help?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Okay, but be careful and take care of the boys."

Thirty minutes later, he walked back from the side door with a lifeless expression on his face and a club covered in blood in his hand. 

"Uncle Phil, where is Mom?" she asked in a shaky voice and slowly pointed the gun at him. 

He kept walking closer and closer to her without saying a word. The more he approached, the louder she yelled at him to stay back. 

"Why are you doing this? Stay back!"

"Auntie Jane, what are you doing?" Jeff questioned as he rubbed his eyes.

"Nothing, don't worry. Just stay behind me." Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, and tears streamed down her face, "Stay back! I will shoot!"

Phil continued advancing towards them, then, in a second: Bang. Jane then immediately dropped her gun, and with both hands covered her face. 

"Well, that was a bit harsh," the voice of a man came from behind the side door. 

From between her fingers, she was shocked to see Uncle Karl standing in front of her. Before she could realize what was happening, he began confessing.

"Don't look at me like that. They all deserved it. Felicia was my love, but of course, she chose Phil, the strong navy-boy. I stayed quiet for so long. I had to tolerate every Christmas and every family gathering with them being all lovey-dovey at each other. Then he had to go kill her and Adam-"

"It was an accident!" she shouted.

He paused, then glared at her. 

"You-You didn't have to kill him! And Grandma! A-and Mom!" Her voice again started shaking.

"They all killed her. I told them that she was mine, but none of them listened. Now-now she's dead."

In an instant, Karl grabbed the gun from next to Jane, apologized to her, then, bang. 

When the sun rose, the ambulance arrived and carried away four bodies: Phil’s, Margret’s, Sarah’s, and Karl’s.